


Unfinished WIP 5 (I'm A Little Drunk, And I Need You Now)

by ragingrainbow



Series: Fic Graveyard [5]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Brad "Cheeks" Bell RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Drunkenness, Friendship, Heartbreak, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragingrainbow/pseuds/ragingrainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Adam drops his hand to his lap at the sound of Brad’s voice, suddenly self-conscious. For a few long moments he has no clue what to say, he is too scared, he doesn’t want Brad to know how much he </i>needs<i> right now.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished WIP 5 (I'm A Little Drunk, And I Need You Now)

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided to start posting my unfinished and unlikely to ever be finished WIPs, just to get them out of my hair. Please note that unfinished works will be posted as they are - stopping abruptly where my inspiration ran out. If that's not your thing, don't read!
> 
> If anyone finds inspiration here and would like to continue the story or write their own based on the idea, feel free to, but please give credit? I'd honestly love it if these stories could be told even if my muse has given up on them!

“Fuck.” Adam mutters, setting the empty wine bottle back down on the table. He rubs his right hand across his face, suddenly realizing that he is definitely tipsy. 

Not surprising at all, really, since he has managed to polish off the wine in less than two hours. Still, it has done nothing to silence his mind. 

He knows he is in dangerous territory. Emotional, tipsy, and alone. A combination of states that can never really bode well. And crying into the back of a sofa is nowhere near as comforting as a warm shoulder. 

He picks his phone up from the table. He glances at the clock before he starts to go through his phone book. It’s just after midnight, not too late to call any of the people who would come over just to give him a shoulder to cry on. 

As he thumbs through the names in his phonebook, he realizes that what he needs right now is so much more than a shoulder. He brings the name up, hesitating; his thoughts a drunk hazy conflicting jumble of want, and need, and fear. But he knows this may be the only way for him to find any peace tonight, the only way to put a stop to this off kilter tumble he has been on lately. So he presses the call button, absentmindedly chewing on a nail while the phone rings once, twice, three times. 

“Hello?” 

Adam drops his hand to his lap at the sound of Brad’s voice, suddenly self-conscious. For a few long moments he has no clue what to say, he is too scared, he doesn’t want Brad to know how much he _needs_ right now.

“Adam?” 

Brad’s voice is softer this time, and Adam can hear the concern, knows the tone of voice, knows that Brad will know why he called even if he doesn’t say anything. So he just says it.

“Can you come over?” He hears the quiver in his own voice, but he chooses to ignore it, to believe that it wasn’t audible to Brad on the other end of the line. 

“Already on my way. Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

Adam shakes his head. It takes him a few moments to realize that Brad can’t actually see him. 

“No, no. I’ll be fine.”

He’ll be watching the minutes tick by until Brad arrives. But Brad doesn’t need to know that. 

Except Adam can hear from the tone of Brad’s reply that he does know. Of course he knows. 

“If you’re sure. I’ll see you soon.”

Adam can hear Brad hesitate, even if it’s not actually audible at all. He manages a somewhat convincing reassurance and Brad gives in, hangs up and leaves Adam alone with his thoughts. 

He should have asked Brad to stay on the line. But he doesn’t want to be that needy. 

He does end up watching the minutes tick by in a bid to keep himself from thinking while he waits for the doorbell to ring. 

When Adam lets Brad in, Brad takes one quick look at him before wrapping his arms around him. Adam relaxes into it for a moment, before pulling out of Brad’s embrace and turning to go into the living room. 

Brad follows him, watches as he picks up the empty bottles – and he so should have done that before Brad arrived – turns down the drink Adam offers him. When Adam comes back after depositing the bottles in the kitchen, Brad is sitting on the couch. Adam sits down on the other end of it.

They sit in silence for a few moments, Brad still looking at Adam, meeting Adam’s gaze whenever Adam looks at him. But Adam can’t keep eye contact, not right now. He’s too afraid of what Brad might _see_.

“It was just wine,” Adam finally says, meeting Brad’s eyes as he speaks, realizing that Brad knows him well enough that not doing so would give away much of what he’s trying to hide.

Brad just shrugs and holds his gaze. 

“And I opened one of those bottles yesterday, anyway,” he adds, resisting the urge to look away, to fidget under Brad’s stare. 

Brad leans forward a little, reaches out for Adam, but stops his movement when Adam flinches. 

“Why, Adam?”

Adam breaks eye contact then, looks down at his hands, picks at the chipped polish on his right thumb. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to answer. 

He’s not even sure he knows what Brad is asking. Why did he drink himself stupid? Why did he call Brad? Why is he making excuses? He’s pretty sure Brad has a good idea of the answer to all those questions.

Brad sighs and shifts a little closer, close enough for Adam to feel the way the couch dips to accommodate his weight. Adam wishes it was as easy for him to open up, to let Brad shape him, become a momentary part of him. He keeps picking away at his polish, doesn’t look up when Brad speaks. 

“Hey, Adam, talk to me.” 

Brad moves, rests one of his hands on top of Adam’s, stills Adam’s movement. His hand feels warm, and heavy, much heavier than it should be. His whole presence is like that now, weighing on Adam, but his voice is gentle, coaxing, and it ll makes Adam want to talk. He wants to tell Brad all his fears, wants to break open and hand all this worry and confusion to Brad and let Brad _fix_ it. And that scares him, scares him so much that he can’t get a single word out. 

“You’re so tense,” Brad murmurs, and all of a sudden his other hand is on Adam’s neck, fingers kneading at the knotted muscles. 

Adam’s reaction is automatic, his whole being responding to the gentle pressure of Brad’s fingers, the tension that has been building for weeks slowly starting to uncoil. A soft whimper escapes his lips before he bites down on the rest of the noises that want to spill, and he fights it, fights what his body wants - what _he_ needs - grasping onto those last tiny slivers of control. 

And then Brad moves even closer, his hand sliding down Adam’s back, pulling him closer. “Oh, _baby_.”

Adam clings to Brad, drinks in his solid warmth as he buries his face against Brad’s neck. Brad doesn’t say anything, just rubs Adam’s back, rocks him a little and presses a careful kiss to his temple. He’s known Adam long enough, _well enough_ , to know that sometimes Adam really needs silent company. Evidently, it has been a while since someone provided it.


End file.
